


Comrades In Arms

by Brenda



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology, The Iliad - Homer, Troy (2004)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-22 05:35:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/909506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brenda/pseuds/Brenda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"You realize I am your enemy?"</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Hector shook his head.  He was weary of fighting.  "Tonight, my brother, I am all the enemy I need."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comrades In Arms

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in 2004. Events take place about five years before the Trojan War.

_"Across the fields of mourning_  
 _Lights in the distance"_  
\-- U2

 

The burning glare of the afternoon sun gave way to the more muted rays of twilight as each side dragged corpse after corpse off the field. Hector looked around, an odd sense of grief winding through him. He wondered what this bloodied, mud-bogged expanse of land had looked like before the armies had set foot in this once peaceful vale, wondered if it had been a place of beauty and gathering. Now it would forever ring with the echoes of screams and the scent of burning flesh.

Smoke from the burning pyres lit the purplish sky, enveloped everything in shades of grey. Hector's eyes burned from the acrid scent of charred flesh, charred wood. It helped to hide his tears.

He sank onto the ground in front of a small fire, meant to keep the chill of the evening at bay as everyone worked under the flag of truce. He laid his sword in easy reach, and eased the clasps of his shield from his chest. Sweat mingled with blood along the muscled planes of his chest. So much blood spilled in this campaign, so much blood to keep the enemies of his allies at bay.

As his gaze traversed the landscape, he caught sight of a golden-haired warrior, one of the enemy soldiers, striding towards him. Hector remembered seeing him in battle earlier -- the soldier had fought as though Ares himself had been guiding his hand. In the gleaming rays of the dying sun, the other man seemed golden as Apollo himself, and moved with an arrogance that could only be from Zeus. The Gods definitely favored this one, Hector thought.

The other man dropped next to him, held out a flagon of wine. Hector took it gratefully, and they passed it back and forth in comfortable silence for a while.

"Good fight today," his companion finally stated.

Hector glanced out across the fields again, the sky still streaked with smoke. In his mind, he heard the bright laughter of men who would never again embrace a lover, never hold a flagon up to the Gods in celebration. "Any day when good men die is _not_ a good day," he replied, throwing another log onto their small fire.

"Your comrades will be remembered. What more could any mortal ask?"

Hector thought of the fields of his homeland with sudden, fierce longing. "To grow old and love his family," he replied, thinking of his new wife, who would be waiting for him when he got back to Troy.

His companion clapped him on the back, mirth shining out of knowing blue eyes. "An idealist in the middle of a litter of burning corpses. How noble."

"My beliefs need no apology," Hector replied tersely.

"No, of course not." The other man held his hands out in supplication. "My apologies to you, brother."

"Accepted." Hector passed the flagon back with a smile to show all was forgiven. "Share another drink with me?"

"You realize I am your enemy?"

Hector shook his head. He was weary of fighting. "Tonight, my brother, I am all the enemy I need."

"I can see that," the other man replied thoughtfully, and took a long draught from the flagon.

"Our quarrel will still be here in the morning," Hector continued, and accepted the wine with a nod of thanks. "Tonight we honor the dead with drink and stories. It's the custom of our country."

"In mine as well." Piercing eyes regarded Hector for a moment. "Your shield is very distinctive. You're Trojan, aren't you?"

Hector nodded.

"Are the horses there as fast as everyone says?"

Hector found himself relaxing at the mildness of the question. "Faster," he laughed. "It's like bottling the wind to ride one. Provided you can stay on its back long enough."

A flash of even, white teeth. "Untamable, are they?"

"Some have the gift, others don't," Hector shrugged. "It's the same with everything, I expect." Another glance at his companion, noting the strange, black armor, the lack of crest upon a battered shield. "What about you, brother? From what far land do you hail?"

"Thessaly."

"I've heard stories of the beaches there."

His companion smiled again, a smile of memory and love. It made him look even more ethereal, of the Gods. "The stories could never do it justice."

"And this is where you learned to fight?" Hector asked, stirring the ashes with a long, wooden stick. Sparks flew up, lit the sky in brilliant pinpoints of light. "I saw you in battle today. You moved like a lion on the prowl. I've never seen anyone fight like that."

"Now you have," the other man nodded, no hint of pride in his voice. Just a calm acceptance of his superiority.

"Modest as well," Hector chuckled.

His companion did not return such sentiments. "Modesty is for maidens, not warriors," he stated. "You have every reason to be proud of your own prowess. I, too, noticed you in battle." And, finally, he smiled slightly. "You would be a worthy opponent."

Heat skittered up Hector's spine. "I've no wish to cross swords with you on the field."

"Honest of you." They continued to watch the pyres. "Is it true that the walls of Troy cannot be breached?"

"Many have tried." Hector thought about the golden walls of his home, its towering columns, their majestic rise from the ground. It was, to him, the most beautiful sight in all of the world. Soon, he'd see it again. "None have been successful. And none shall be as long as I draw breath."

"Rest easy, my brother." A strong arm clasped Hector's bicep, and he stared down at the callused fingers. He could still see the rust stains of blood under his companion's nails. "I'm not here to seduce you out of the secrets to conquering your lands."

Hector continued to look at the hand on his arm, felt the warmth and tactile strength clear through to his bones. "Then why are you here?"

The answer was clearly, simply spoken. "I only sit with the best."

Hector could only nod; in truth, he had no words in the face of such naked, open honesty. He continued to watch the hand on him -- battle-scarred and rough, made for wielding a sword, made for killing and war and destruction. He curled his own hand around it, watched as they slid easily together, coiled around each other with an almost audible click.

"It's a beautiful night," his companion said, glancing up at the first stars twinkling through the haze of smoke.

"Yes, it is." Hector risked rubbing a thumb across the other man's wrist, felt the jump in a rapid pulse. "We are still enemies," he reminded them both.

"Only out there." Hector felt the tugging on his wrist, allowed it to be brought up to soft lips, sharp nip of teeth. Felt the answering tug low in his stomach. "Here we are simply two men."

Hector's breath caught at the need in a low voice. "Nothing is ever that simple," he whispered.

Blue eyes softened in understanding. Their hands flexed comfortably together once again. "In this moment it is. And this moment is _all_ there is."

"Do you seduce everyone thus?" Hector murmured, leaning imperceptibly closer. "With promises of the pleasures without consequence?"

Full lips parted, showing a flash of pink tongue. "Is it working?"

"It's an alluring thought." Closer, and closer still. Hector felt as if his body were no longer his to control, as if the Gods had taken over, left him without free will. It was strangely liberating.

"If you will not match me on the field, I would have you match me here, with the stars as our witness." Hector's vision narrowed to the lips inching ever closer to his, promising oblivion and rest from endless battle. Promising a truce, just for tonight.

Sinking into the nectar of this stranger's lips was easier than Hector would have believed possible.

 

***


End file.
